The Boise Fry Company is the best potato joint in the capital of America’s potato state. How could it be anything other than amazing? We visited on our final day in Idaho, eager to fill our bellies with greasy goodness, and were not disappointed.

Boise is blessed with a lot of excellent restaurants. During our two weeks in the city, we enjoyed great meals at Chandler’s Steakhouse, Bar Gernika, Cobby’s, The Fork, Goldy’s, Bardenay, Mai Thai, Cazba and the Red Feather, among others. Seriously, if you’re looking for good eats in Boise, check out any of the aforementioned. But the restaurant we’ll most remember is probably the Boise Fry Company.

There’s a sign out front which says “Burgers on the Side”, and that’s no mere witticism. Here, the french fries really are the main course. You get to choose between seven different sorts of potatoes, each of which can be cut in a variety of ways. There are nine various dipping sauces available, from ketchup, to chipotle aioli, to marshmallow sauce.

Yep: marshmallow sauce. That might sound revolting at first blush, but just try dipping one of the thick sweet potato fries into it. Heavenly. We ordered a bunch of different baskets, trying out everything from Russet to yam to pretty purple potatoes, and had a blast experimenting with various combinations of sauces. Yeah, there were burgers and homemade root beer, too; delicious, but almost an afterthought. Our attention had been completely captured by the fries.

One of the most idiosyncratic aspects of Idaho, and Boise in particular, is its connection to the Basque Country. Because of geographic and climatic similarities to their homeland, thousands of emigrating Basques chose Idaho as their new home. Their influence remains strong throughout the state, but nowhere is it more celebrated celebrated than in Boise’s Basque Block.

A wonderfully-realized mural on Capital Boulevard welcomes visitors into the block. For the uninitiated, the painting works as a visual introduction to the Basques and their history in Idaho. Scenes from the homeland mix with representations of Idahoan pastoral life and even a recreation of Picasso’s Guernica, which depicts the tragic destruction of the important Basque city by Nazi-backed fascists.

The block itself centers on the Basque Heritage Museum and House, both of which we took a tour of. The museum is excellent, with exhibits that throw a light on the Basques, their homeland, language, history and present-day situation. Basques are a fascinating people, thought to be among Europe’s oldest cultures, with a language whose roots can’t be traced to any other. Though its history has been fraught with hardship, the Euskal Herria, as they refer to it, has become one of the most prosperous regions in Spain.

The Basque Boarding House is one of the oldest surviving houses in Boise, owned and run by the same Basque family for decades. It’s remained largely unchanged over the ages, and is now filled with artifacts and furniture dating from the early 1900s. We were given a tour by the museum’s director, Patty Smith, who (despite the very English name) is of Basque heritage and knows practically everything about the culture. She also showed us into the block’s pilota hall, where the fast-moving sport is still frequently played.

Outside the museum and boarding house, there’s a lot more to discover. Public art, like the larger-than-life laikas (Basque farm implements) which crown the entrance to the block. Basque poems and songs inscribed into the sidewalk. And restaurants like Bar Gernika, which serves up traditional fare such as chorizo sandwiches and a delicious lamb grinder.

No visit to Boise is complete without a tour of the Basque Block. The fascinating and surprising connection to the Old World is one of the city’s defining characteristics.

Founded in 1937, the Boise Art Museum has a premium riverside location in an Art Deco building just off Capitol Boulevard. We took a quick tour of the current exhibitions, and had the chance to meet an artist at work on her latest installation.

The Boise Art Museum consists of fifteen rooms, most of which host temporary exhibits, and a sculpture garden. The permanent collection focuses on art of the Pacific Northwest, ceramics, American Realism, and a surprisingly heavy emphasis on Asian Art. We saw some of the collection in an exhibition called Eastern Traditions / Western Expressions: pieces from Japan, China and Korea nicely juxtaposed with works from America and the west, in order to highlight just how deep the influences of the Orient reach.

We were quickly finished with our tour of the museum; the permanent collection was rather small, and there weren’t any temporary exhibits at the moment. But this left us more time to watch installation artist Billie Grace Lynn at work on her White Elephants. In the museum’s Sculpture Court, her team was busy arranging a collection of bags. Once fans were attached, we watched as the empty white bags inflated into enormous white elephants.

Billie noticed us and, after approaching to introduce herself, invited us to crawl inside one of the elephants. I went in with a member of her team who was busy attaching the fan from the inside. It reminded me of our elephant adventures in Sri Lanka, and that’s the story of how I came to be sitting inside an giant nylon elephant, chatting about Sri Lanka with a total stranger. Not exactly how I envisioned my day when waking up that morning!

On a hilltop just outside Boise, the World Center for Birds of Prey introduces visitors to some of the planet’s wickedest raptors. Established in 1984 by the Peregrine Fund, the center not only contains a wealth of information about hawks, owls, falcons and more, but also breeds them in captivity.

The first thing you’ll see when pulling up to the center is Condor Cliffs, home to two magnificent California Condors. The largest birds in North America, the condors were almost driven to extinction: down to just 22 in 1987. But they’ve made a resurgence thanks to the work of organizations like the Peregrine Fund. Today, there are over 200 in the wild, many of them bred here in Boise. And the number is growing.

I had never seen a California Condor in real life; they’re impressive birds, with a wingspan nearly 10 feet long, and hideous faces. We watched with malicious glee as the condors flapped around their enclosure, chasing a terrified child on the other side of the tarp. The kid was screaming, too young to understand that he was completely safe and could just walk away. This spectacle alone was easily worth the price of entrance.

But there was much more to see. Around twenty birds who are either too old or too damaged for release have been designated as Avian Ambassadors, and occupy cages both outside and inside the center. These birds of prey range in size from the tiny American Kestrel to the majestic Bald Eagle, with plenty in between. There was a Great Horned Owl, an Arctic Falcon, and a richly-colored Bateleur from South Africa. At lunchtime, we watched a Harpy Eagle named Luigi rip apart the corpse of a pheasant. Yum.

Besides the birds, there are a number of displays in the main hall and regular exhibitions throughout the day. There’s also an extensive library dedicated to falconry, with an entire wing about the sport’s history in the Middle East. Among the things one doesn’t expect to find in Idaho: world-class modern dance and a permanent exhibition about Arabian Falconry.

Most of the Birds of Prey Center is used for breeding, completely off-limits to visitors, and even to any staff whose presence isn’t absolutely required. Every effort is made to ensure that the birds hatched here remain as wild as possible. By visiting the center, you can support this important endeavor, and have the chance to meet some fascinating birds. This was an unexpected highlight of our time in Boise.

On Saturdays, traffic in downtown Boise comes to a standstill for the Capital City Public Market, which brings vendors together to sell organic veggies, clothing and artwork. It’s a popular weekly event which we got to experience shortly before the onset of winter.

The market has been a Boise tradition since 1994, and runs throughout the year. During the summer, up to 150 vendors put up stands, spreading out over six city blocks. It was much smaller than this on the chilly mid-November Saturday we visited, but a surprising number of shoppers were in attendance.

We did a couple loops of the market, hungrily accepting the samples which almost every food vendor was offering, filling our bellies one delicious bite at a time. The veggies, fruit and wine on sale here are locally-grown, usually by families or small co-ops, so you’re probably not going to find outrageous bargains. But quality counts. One should be willing to pay a bit more for fresh, local produce; judging by the crowds and amount of cash we saw changing hands, much of Boise agrees.

When you think of “Boise”, the first thing that comes to mind probably isn’t a thriving public art scene. But perhaps it should be. On almost every corner of the city, hidden in alleys, plastered across electrical boxes and even engraved in sidewalks, fascinating artwork can be found. There are bold, unmissable sculptures and paintings, but also subtle pieces which you might not even notice unless looking for them.

We took a tour of Boise’s public art, starting in the aptly-named Freak Alley between Bannock and Idaho Streets. Graffiti is a part of life in any city worth its salt, but usually it’s not all collected in one place. Boise decided to give the city’s street artists a huge canvas to play on, and the result is an open-air gallery of some exciting work. Although the artists have to apply for permits to work here — an act of buerocratic compliance not often seen in the anarchic world of graffiti — they’re given free rein. One of the more striking works features a blood-thirsty Uncle Sam ripping the heart out of a US soldier; a piece of political agitprop that I can’t imagine the city fathers are thrilled about.

Freak Alley houses the most visible of Boise’s public art, but there’s much more to be found throughout the city. Artists were commissioned not just from Idaho, but from all around the country. Look at the bus stands, which have been individually designed in modern patterns. Or the electrical boxes all around Boise: each one has a different painting wrapped around it.

On 9th and Idaho, look at the ground; there’s a string of leaves etched into the concrete, leading from tree to tree. At Grove Plaza, take a second glance at the statue of herons fishing in the river; if you get on your knees, you’ll find something hiding in a log. On Grove and 9th, there’s a wonderful tribute to the city’s canals which glows green at night. And nearby, a series of streetlamps contain miniature robots which play music as pedestrians pass by.

Alley History by Kerry Moosman

Upside-down trouts, disembodied bear heads, multi-paneled postcards, a gold prospector made of barbed wire… we saw a lot of fun art during our tour. Perhaps my favorite was a piece called Alley History, by Kerry Moosman. This giant mural on the 9th Street Alley between Bannock and Idaho combines old street signs, ceramics, Chinese calligraphy and more in a wonderful tribute to the city’s history.

Boise’s commitment to the arts is amazing. I always made sure to keep my eyes open while walking the streets of the capital, and spotting new art became almost like a game. It can be found everywhere, and life in the city is undeniably better for it.

A window into the not-so-distant and none-too-glorious past of America’s prison system, the Old Boise Penitentiary is probably the city’s most popular historical site. Up until a riot forced its closure in 1973, the Old Pen is where Idaho’s worst criminals came to serve their time, get shanked and wait for the gallows.

The prison opened in 1872 when Idaho was still a territory, and was in use for almost exactly 100 years. A stay here was no cakewalk. The Pen is as cold, cramped and harsh as morally tolerable: tiny cots packed two to a room, buckets instead of toilets, isolation holes and even an on-site gallows.

A self-guided tour leads you around the grounds, through the cell blocks, and into the recreation yards, the laundry room, and the bone-chilling isolation chambers. There are exhibits and historical information posted throughout the Old Pen, all of it fascinating. You can read about the more notorious inmates, and how they were executed. There’s a section about the female prisoners of the Pen, one about prison weapons, and a gallery of inmate tattoo art. Admirably, the Old Pen doesn’t shy away from stories which cast a negative light on the penitentiary system — we read about the racism of territorial Idaho, when a Chinese man was imprisoned for months on the charge of “an excessive appetite for chicken”.

There are over a dozen buildings to explore, and we started at the old cement cellblocks. The temperature dropped noticeably when we stepped inside. Some of the cells were open and we entered, imagining being locked up here. Terrifying. The newest cell block, built in 1954, held the Death Row inmates and had a gallows built into the second floor; the condemned would drop through a hole in the ground into a “swinging room” on the first floor. Convenient.

The prison was abandoned following riots in 1973, and the cells were left untouched. Even today, they look just as they did almost forty years ago, just a bit more weather-beaten. Many are still infused with the character of their last tenant, with artwork, decorations, or witticisms carved into the wall, some of them touching, some banal, and many profane.

The Old Pen is one of Boise’s top highlights; we spent hours there, making it well worth the $5 cost of entry.

With over 23,000 students, 200 degrees and 100 graduate programs, Boise State University is the largest institute of higher learning in Idaho. But rather than for its academics or gorgeous urban campus, BSU is most famous around the country for its football program. And, of course, for the crazy blue turf of its field.

BSU games are among the most popular events in the state. On matchday, every single person in Idaho smears on blue and orange face paint and crashes the nearest bar, while everyone lucky enough to be in Boise heads to the stadium. We didn’t want to miss out, and bought tickets for a home game as soon as they became available. The Boise State Broncos vs. The Aztecs of San Diego State — capable rivals from the Mountain West Conference in which BSU plays.

We had been invited to a pregame tailgate party by a Twitter friend known to us only as the BSU Pimp. Any doubts we’d harbored about recognizing our host disappeared as soon as he sauntered into view. Decked out from head to toe in blue and orange pimp gear, from a cowboy hat to a sparkling sequin robe, from sunglasses to some outrageous bling that included a Bronco-colored Grill for his teeth, there was no mistaking the BSU Pimp.

I’ve been tailgating before, but never like this. The parking lot was filled to capacity with trailers and thousands of fans working diligently on their intoxication levels. We hopped around to a few parties — the Pimp is well-known and much-loved in the scene — and were astounded by the set-ups. Huge TVs with satellite reception, boxes of liquor and restaurant-worthy food. We met fun people, ate tamales, shot tequila, and were actually a little disappointed when the time came to enter the stadium.

Of course, I was already grudgingly familiar with BSU’s famous blue “Smurf Turf”. Like 98% of American football fans, I’ve always found it a bit irritating. BSU’s was the first football field in the nation not colored green, and since it wasn’t my team’s blue turf, I was never able to appreciate it. But Idaho was our home now — we were even wearing newly-bought Broncos gear — and I saw the turf with new eyes. Especially when viewed live, it’s actually really cool.

The game, though, wasn’t nearly as exciting as the turf. The Broncos never looked strong, and despite leading at halftime, went on to lose 21-19 to the unranked Aztecs. We were seated in the northern end zone and the crowd’s energy, which had started strong, slowly and steadily ebbed into silence. But Jürgen and I were very transitory BSU fans and, unlike the crestfallen crazies around us, didn’t care all that much about the score. Despite the loss, it was a great night out.

With just a little over two weeks remaining of our 91 days in Idaho, we pulled into Boise. We had originally planned on using the capital as the base for our entire three-month stay, but decided Idaho was too big to be stationed in just one spot. So we went on a road-trip through the state, and left our exploration of Boise for the journey’s end. Did we save the best for last?

Even by western standards, Boise has a young history. It was founded in 1834 as Fort Boise, 40 miles west of its present-day location. When silver was discovered in Bogus Basin, the fort was moved in order to act as a staging area for the booming Idaho City. Fort Boise soon became a thriving community in its own right, and was incorporated as a city in 1863. Although dwarfed in size by the northern city of Lewiston, and not nearly as influential as nearby Idaho City, Boise took the mantle the territorial capital in 1866 — a controversial move (or theft) that sent the Panhandle into a tizzy. Lewiston even threatened to secede from the territory and join Washington.

Boise’s capital coup isn’t the only thing controversial about it; there’s also the matter of its pronunciation. Idahoans say “Boise” differently than the rest of us. To most of America and the world, it’s boy-zee. But here, everyone uses the soft “s”: boy-see. The difference is unmistakable, and I suspect that locals are doing this deliberately so as to identify outsiders.

The name comes from the French for “the woods” (les bois), but the forests which impressed early Europeans have now been largely cleared away. Still, Boise is a remarkably green city. On our first day here, I saw a few deer grazing along the banks of the river, next to the Museum of Art. The city’s lively downtown centers around 8th Street and Idaho, with an expansive selection of restaurants and shops. There are more bikers and pedestrians than in most cities and, especially as home to Boise State University, the city feels young and vibrant. Boise is slimmer and better-looking than most cities of comparable size. It likes the great outdoors, and strolls along the river. It’s probably a fantastic kisser.

Boise frequently appears on lists like Outside Magazine’s “Best River Towns” or Forbes’ “Best Places to Raise a Family“. It’s not hard to understand why. Not only is there great culture within the city — concerts, museums, theater, dance, public art — but recreational activities abound in the near vicinity, from skiing to mountain climbing to whitewater rafting.

It didn’t take long for us to regret the fact that we had so little time to spend in Boise. Two weeks was nowhere near enough. Seeing the rest of Idaho was wonderful, and we probably made the right decision, but 91 days in Boise wouldn’t have been bad.

“Which one is it going to be?” I whispered to Jürgen after the pilots had finished up their morning briefing and were beginning to mingle with the passengers. “Hopefully that guy with the handlebar moustache!” As luck would have it, it was. The awesome dude with the handlebar moustache had seen his name on the placard we were holding, and approached us. “Quinn”, he said, putting his hand out. “Eric Quinn”.

We were at the Spirit of Boise Baloon Classic, and had just met our pilot for the day. He introduced us to his team, which included his wife Tara, and then put us to work preparing the balloon. Tara is a pilot, too, and we would later learn that the Quinns’ incursion into the world of ballooning had been her idea to begin with. She was the one who had become enraptured of the idea, and was also the first to obtain a license. And the balloon we’d be riding in, the Millennium Spirit, had been a birthday present from him to her. (Which, I hate to point out, makes the sweater I got last year look pretty lame, Jürgen!)

Setting up the balloon was a lot of fun, and enough work to keep the eight members of our team busy. After filling it with air, it was time for Jürgen and I to step into the basket. At this point, the butterflies seriously began tickling my stomach — I was just about to fret to Jürgen about the take-off, when I realized that we were already airborne. It had been so smooth, I hadn’t even noticed leaving the ground. The whole trip, in fact, was more serene than I had expected. We were just floating; there was nothing the least bit jerky or jarring about it.

It was amazing. This had been something I’d always wanted to experience, and now here we were, soaring above Boise. Eric could raise the balloon by blasting the fire, or lower it by letting air into the top. He was even able to roughly control the direction in which we floated by monitoring the air currents at different altitudes. At one level, we’d be going west, and then we’d ascend twenty feet and be pushed toward the south.

We weren’t alone in the sky. There were about thirty balloons participating in the Classic, which has been held annually since 1991. One of Eric’s friends, who was piloting a balloon similar in design to ours, approached and gave us a “kiss” — which meant bumping the balloons together. “Hey Eric”, he called over from his basket, “That was nice, but I would have rather kissed your wife!”

After we had landed and everything was packed, Jürgen and I began to say our goodbyes, but the Quinns stopped us short. “Whoa, you’re not going anywhere yet!” Oh, no? “Nope. You’re first-timers, and that means you’ll have to complete… [boom boom boom] The Ceremony!!!” They took us into a grassy field and laid out a small carpet. We knelt before Eric while he related the tale of history’s original balloon trip. Then after swearing an oath, we bent over, took our paper champagne glasses between our teeth, and drained them without using our hands.

It was an incredible day out and we couldn’t have found a better team to ride with than the Quinns. Hot air ballooning is now something I can scratch off my life’s “to-do list”. Although, maybe I won’t. I wouldn’t mind the excuse to do it again. Floating silently through the air, carried by the wind, looking down on the tiny people waving up at me… it’s something I could get addicted to.

About Us

We're Jürgen and Mike, from Germany and the USA. Born wanderers, we love learning about new cultures and have decided to see the world... slowly. Always being tourists might get lame, but eternal newcomers? We can live with that. So, our plan is to move to an interesting new city, once every three months. About 91 days.